Pathos
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: Sort of an alternate reality fic in which Draco and Harry discover they are brothers, much to Draco's... rage. This is not a fluffy, happy fic and contains POSSIBLY DISTURBING MATURE ADULT CONTENT and all that. Be warned.


Author's Note: (This isn't my usual sort of fic and started when one of my lovely stalkers asked me to write a fic where Harry and Draco were brothers. After many weeks of "LOLWHUT?" I started thinking about it and came up with a concept I thought would work. It's much darker and grittier than my normal fluffyfics, and while incest doesn't squick me - obviously, heh - the undertones of violence do, but Draco is not a happy bunny in this fic and it shows. I posted this on Livejournal a year ago and just realized it wasn't here, yet. BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED SCHMOOP SOON, I PROMISE.) :D

**PATHOS**

Draco sat stiffly on the sofa and clutched the letter tightly in his hands. He let his eyes drift slowly over the room in an effort to prolong unsealing the parchment. From his father's attitude, Draco feared it would be akin to opening Pandora's Box.

His father's study was all dark wood and patterned green, highlighted with soft light globes and thick beeswax candles. The atmosphere was supposed to be relaxing, but Draco had never felt relaxed in this room. It was the place to which he had often been called to receive punishment as a child.

He met his father's eyes and saw the normally stern features taut with something resembling apprehension. Draco nearly smiled—usually he was the one in this room with sweating palms and pounding heart. Despite the wayward thought, his father's face did not inspire confidence and Draco's fingers felt damp against the letter. He looked down at it once more and his heart seized when he took in the blue wax and stylized N that had been his mother's seal. Never again would she drip hot wax onto a letter and press the cold metal of her seal into it before pursing her lips to blow it dry.

Draco suppressed a sob and slipped a nail beneath the seal, taking care to lift the wax and not break it. He took a deep breath and began to read.

_Dearest Draco, If you are reading this letter it means that I am gone into the unknown. Before I begin, I want you to know that you have been the joy of my life. You are my beautiful, precious love and I have cherished you since I held you in my arms for the very first time and peered into your tiny face. You have grown into an exceptional person and I am proud of you in so many ways._

Draco had to stop for a moment as tears swam before his eyes and the words blended into a wet blur. He lifted the parchment quickly and a tear dropped into his lap instead of hitting the paper. He glanced at his father and saw the same sorrow reflected in his face.

It was not fair. It was stupid and senseless and completely unfair. His mother had slipped on spilled tea and tumbled down the stairs. _Killed instantly_, the mediwizard had said. Draco returned his attention to the letter and tried to focus.

_You will probably be very angry with me by the time you finish reading this and for that I apologize. I wanted to give you this information so many times in the past, but I could not bear to see the shame in your eyes. In that, I have been a coward. Before you read any further, I must tell you that Lucius has been forced to keep my secret because of an Unbreakable Vow. Please remember, above all, that he chose to be your father and give you the name and privilege and all that comes with being a Malfoy. I hope you will continue to give him the love and respect that he deserves._

Draco's eyes flicked to his father, still casually seated on the chair opposite him, wearing an emotionless mask, the one that prevented anyone guessing his thoughts or feelings. Draco read on.

_The truth I have kept from you, my darling Draco, is nothing more than this: Your biological father was James Potter. It was a moment of stupidity that I can never regret only because it gave you to me. When you were young it was not important, as Lucius became your father in every way but one. Now that you are nearly an adult, I feel it pertinent to inform you only in the event that the knowledge becomes necessary. I have guarded this secret closely and there are only a handful of people who know the truth. I hope you never have to use this knowledge, but in these troubled times I worry more that it may be used against you. Please take all necessary precautions. I love you, Draco, and I always will. Eternally yours, your mother, Narcissa Malfoy._

Draco's stunned gaze returned to his father, who nodded slowly.

"How? How did it happen?"

"In the usual fashion, Draco," his father replied with a bare hint of amusement before shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. It was over fifteen years ago. All that matters is that you are a Malfoy, regardless of the seed that sired you. We would have kept it from you forever if not for…"

The Dark Lord, of course. The same terrifying wizard resurrected after the Tri-Wizard Tournament last year. That thought immediately called to mind the Gryffindor hero. And closely on the heels of that… Draco's mind seemed to be moving in slow motion.

_Oh sweet Merlin, Harry Potter was his brother_.

Lucius was unwilling to provide details, but he had never had much resistance to Draco's demands. The story tumbled out after some prodding.

"She was in love. James Potter was an arse, but he was a good-looking arse, charming and rich and all the usual things that attract foolish young girls. He set his sights on Cissa and would stop at nothing to have her. She was actually happy when you were conceived, expecting to marry Potter." Lucius paused and a muscle twitched in his jaw. "He rejected her." The words were quiet and nearly devoid of emotion, but Draco sensed an undercurrent of rage. "She was devastated, but refused to hear a word when it came to you. She was adamant to keep you. Her parents—well, you know the history of the Black family. They would have disowned her."

Lucius shrugged. "I offered to marry her. Both the Blacks and the Malfoys were ecstatic at the idea. I was content to have a beautiful pureblood wife and heir, and she was glad to avoid the stigma surrounding your parentage. We were already friends and eventually we fell in love. We both adored you from the moment you were born. James Potter married the Mudblood a month after we were wed and Dumbledore's golden child was born shortly after you."

Silver eyes pierced Draco with startling intensity. "Regardless of the blood that flows in your veins, Draco, _you are my son_."

Draco nodded, but his mind was far away. Rejected by a Potter before he was even born. Apparently that had set a precedent for Draco's life. He wanted nothing more than to find Harry Potter and smash his face in. Draco had been discarded while Harry had been accepted and cuddled and loved.

Draco's first confrontation with his newfound brother was on the Hogwarts Express. Draco pinned on his prefect's badge without a hint of the pride he had felt upon receiving it. His mother had been so proud. Draco buried his grief in anger.

He stalked through the train, hissing threats and shoving younger students aside until he spotted the person he hated most. Draco searched the face for any similarity to his own, but he found little resemblance. The same fine cheekbones, perhaps, and a certain cast to the eyes—those same eyes that regarded him now with something like pity.

"Malfoy," Potter said quietly. "I'm sorry about your—" Potter's words were cut off by Draco's fist slamming into his diaphragm. The Gryffindor doubled over in pain and Draco hit him with a Stunner to keep him down.

"I don't need your pity, Potter," he snarled and stalked away as Potter's cronies raced forward with angry cries. Draco massaged his fist and smiled. _Bloody hell, that had felt good_. He was still smiling when the hexes took him down.

~x~

Harry watched the doors the next morning, barely touching his breakfast. Malfoy had missed the Sorting Ceremony entirely, stuck as he was in the hospital wing. Harry had nearly finished poking at his meal when Malfoy strode into the Great Hall, looking none the worse for being in the infirmary all night. His eyes sought Harry's instantly and he threw a venomous glare Harry's way as a sneer twisted his features. The force of it nearly took him aback. He and Malfoy had always been enemies, but this…

"Something is wrong with Malfoy," Harry said. He tracked the blond as he made his way to the Slytherin table and sat in his usual spot between Crabbe and Goyle. The silver eyes lifted every so often to gift Harry another look of intense hatred.

Ron glanced up from the plate of bacon to huff absently. "Something's always been wrong with the git," he muttered. "Looks same as usual to me. Surprised he can walk after Hermione's hex last night."

"He's always hated me, but now he acts like he wants to personally destroy me. Do you think he blames me for the death of his mum?"

Ron stared at him. "Erm… Seems a bit farfetched."

Harry sighed. "You're right. Why would he?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "You're asking me? Who cares? Forget him."

But Malfoy was not so easily forgotten. He seemed to live only to inflict as much pain on Harry as humanly possible. Harry could not pass him in the hall without a violent shove, a kick, a hex, or a combination of the three. Malfoy did not even seem to care about repercussions. He accepted detentions without a word and smiled grimly when the hexes or blows from Harry's friends—or Harry himself—hit him in retaliation.

After a month of dealing with Malfoy's ceaseless rage—as well as several trips to the hospital wing, numerous detentions, and the drawing of clear battle lines between Slytherin and Gryffindor houses—Harry decided he'd had enough.

He knew Malfoy liked to go flying alone. Harry had spent enough time stalking the Slytherin lately to have his schedule nearly memorized. He tossed on his invisibility cloak and made his way to the Quidditch pitch. It was close to midnight. Merlin only knew why the blond liked to fly so late at night. He never seemed to do anything more strenuous than make lazy circles through the air.

Harry watched as Malfoy flew around the pitch, moving with more urgency than usual, speeding near the ground at breakneck speed and weaving in and out of the towers, narrowly missing them at times. It was breathtaking to watch—Malfoy was talented in the air. Despite his inability to snatch the Snitch from Harry's grasp, Malfoy could really fly..

Harry crept closer as Malfoy dismounted and entered the broom shed to put away his broom. Harry hurried inside and cast a Locking Charm on the door. He shrugged off his cape just as Malfoy turned around. He was surprised for only a moment.

"Creeping around in your little cape again, Potter? Getting your pervy kinks by spying on me and hanging round in the girls' bathroom?"

Harry did not bother to mention that if he ever spied in a bathroom, his choice would definitely not be the girls'. "We need to talk."

Malfoy did not pause, but started straight for Harry, tugging out his wand. "No, we do not. I need to hex you and you need to fall down and bleed."

Harry countered Malfoy's first spell easily. He was getting much better at defensive spells now that the blond constantly attacked him. He was not foolish enough to get close enough for a blow, however. Malfoy had made it quite clear that he did not care _how_ he inflicted pain on Harry, as long as pain was forthcoming. Harry backed away quickly.

Spells were cast and countered, until Harry hit with a Leg-Locker Curse. As Malfoy tried to cast the counter-curse, Harry yelled, "_Expelliarmus_!"

Malfoy's wand sailed away and Harry pounced on him, knocking him to the ground.

"Get off me, Potter!" Malfoy snarled, flailing with his fists. Harry grabbed both wrists and slammed them into the dirt, glad that the Leg-Locker Curse kept Malfoy from moving his lower limbs, or the fight might have gone on and on.

"I want to know why you hate me so much."

"What difference does it make?" the blond snarled. "I've always hated you."

"Never so viciously as this year. What's changed? What did I do to make you despise me so violently?"

Malfoy sneered. "It's always about you, isn't it, Potter?" His wrist twisted in Harry's grip, breaking free long enough to drive a punch against Harry's ear that left his head ringing. He snatched Malfoy's arm again and crushed it back against the floor.

"Damn you, Malfoy! It _is_ about me when you're trying to bludgeon me or hex me or shove me down the bloody stairs."

A nasty smile bared Malfoy's perfect teeth and he let out a rare laugh. "That nearly worked, didn't it, Potter?"

Harry clenched his jaw. _Yeah, nearly_. Harry might have broken his neck if a quick spell from Luna hadn't stopped his fall. "You haven't answered my question," Harry snapped.

"Fuck you, Potter."

"I'm not letting you up until you tell me," Harry said grimly.

Malfoy smirked. "I would not have figured you for a closet faggot, Potter."

Harry saw red. His hands tightened on Malfoy's wrists until he felt the bones grind together. "Why are you such a bastard?" he growled.

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. With a snarl, Malfoy reared up and cracked his forehead sharply into Harry's, hard enough that he saw stars. His grip loosened and Malfoy shoved him off before barking, "_Accio_ wand!"

Harry scrambled away, holding his wand ready and blinking away blackness that licked at his vision. He felt something trickle down the bridge of his nose and realized Malfoy's blow had broken the skin.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" Malfoy yelled and got to his feet, staring at Harry with such an enraged expression that he fairly crackled with leashed magical energy. For the first time in his life, Harry felt a tingle of fear when he looked at the blond.

To his surprise, Malfoy only hissed at him and staggered out.

Harry sprawled on the floor in relief and touched a hand to his bloody forehead. _Shit_.

~x~

Draco tried to disguise his limp as he made his way to the Slytherin common room. He had wrenched his thigh during a particularly brutal match with Potter after he had spotted the Gryffindor sitting by the lake, brooding. The battle had been a flurry of spells and counterspells. Draco swore softly at the knowledge that no matter how many wicked hexes he tried, Potter was always just a hair quicker, just a bit luckier. Frustration always caused Draco to abandon spellwork and attack with anything available. This time it had been rocks, picked up and hurled at the black-haired bastard, who had managed to dodge nearly all of them. Nearly.

Draco winced as he hobbled down the stairs, favouring his injured leg. A quick Healing Charm from Pansy would set it right. She never asked questions, knowing full well that every injury these days was induced by his ongoing war with the Chosen One.

Draco smiled grimly at the knowledge that Potter was in worse shape. Draco would savour the look of surprise on Potter's face until his dying day. He had been shocked when Draco launched the first stone, catching him on the side of the face hard enough to send the Gryffindor to the ground. A hastily cast Shield Charm had prevented additional missiles from harming Potter, who had crawled to his feet and charged at Draco.

He sighed and paused outside the common room, trying to remember the password. It was something ridiculous this time, like Salazar Slytherin's place of birth. Like anyone gave a shit enough to remember that. He tried several random towns to no avail and rested his head against the stone in annoyance. Potter and his constant questions were beginning to wear on him. The Gryffindor barely tried to fight back these days; now he merely defended himself and then demanded to know why Draco was set to kill him.

Tonight Potter had roared with rage when the rocks began to bounce off his shield and then he had launched himself at Draco, who had turned and bolted. Potter was fast off the Quidditch pitch as well as on, apparently, for he had caught Draco after a mere twenty steps. A shoulder to Draco's lower back had brought them both down and Draco had yelped when his thigh caught the jutting root of a tree, narrowly missing his groin.

Thankfully, Draco had spun and caught Potter with a Stunner, knocking him back to fall flat. Draco had snarled at the immobile Gryffindor and climbed to his feet before stalking to the prone boy and kicking him mercilessly. Luckily for Potter, the blows had little force because Draco's thigh was throbbing. He had finally abandoned Potter and headed for the castle.

"Derbyshire," he snapped, knowing it was wrong but more than willing to recite every fucking town in the country if it would get him inside to ease the pain in his leg. He heard footsteps approaching and nearly sighed with relief, hoping to Salazar that another Slytherin would remember the thrice-fucked password. Instead, a hand twisted painfully in his hair and wrenched his head back. Of course it was Potter.

"Why. Are. You. Doing. This?" Potter demanded and punctuated each word by slamming Draco's head forward until it banged against the carved wooden snake motif of the concealed doorway.

Blackness began to lick at the edges of Draco's vision. "You really want to know, Potter?" he rasped.

"You know I do," he snarled. Draco wondered if Potter's grip on his hair would tear the locks from his head in bloody hunks.

"Fine," Draco said. "Let go of me and I'll tell you."

"Right," Potter snapped, but he released Draco and pushed away. Draco turned to face the Gryffindor, who held his wand pointed steadily at Draco, but his other arm was pressed tightly against his midsection. Potter no doubt had a few broken ribs there. He suppressed a smirk of satisfaction. Potter's face was obscenely pale in the faint glow of the flickering wall sconces. The idiot should have gone to the hospital wing instead of tracking Draco.

"The truth is, Potter…" Draco began and then halted.

"Yes?"

"_Lumos!_" Draco said loudly and brightened the hallway to almost unbearable levels, seeking to reveal any lurkers. Potter hissed and closed his eyes tightly. His wand twitched and Draco realized the prat had nearly cast a spell on him. Luckily his Gryffindor sensibilities overrode his reflexes. Still, Draco had to ascertain that they were alone. The corridor was empty in both directions.

Draco walked forward and pushed Potter's wand aside carelessly. He leaned in close, shoving a shoulder into his chest as he placed his lips close to the Gryffindor's ear. He could feel tension in every line of Potter's body and had to grit his teeth against the urge to induce yet more pain—his teeth alone could do some damage. He felt a shudder pass through Potter and knew the Chosen One wanted nothing more than to shove Draco away and hex him into oblivion. For a moment he wondered if he could provoke Potter into using an Unforgiveable and then scoffed at himself. Of course not.

"Tell me," Potter whispered raggedly, apparently growing impatient.

Draco opened his mouth and tipped his head slightly in order to press his teeth into Potter's jaw—it was so tempting to tear the flesh away from Potter's perfect face…

"_Tell me_," Potter said, more insistently.

"I thought you wanted to get closer to me, Potter," Draco said conversationally and moved his teeth to Potter's earlobe. He bit down on it gently, almost a lover's caress. He half-expected Potter to shove him away, but instead a shiver rocked the Gryffindor's body. How very badly he must want the news Draco had yet to impart. Heady with a sense of power, Draco sucked on Potter's earlobe while worrying it with his teeth. Potter's breathing sounded incredibly loud in the still hallway. "So much closer," Draco whispered on an exhale. "After all, we are _brothers_."

Potter, already still, seemed to petrify—even his panting breaths halted for long heartbeats. "What do you mean?" he asked finally.

"Just what I said. _Our_ father was dear old James Potter, scion of Gryffindor, hero of the Wizarding World, the man who died for his precious little son. Or _one of them,_ at any rate; the Favourite; the Chosen Son. Apparently I wasn't good enough to die for, or to live for."

Potter did push him away then, looking more enraged than Draco had ever seen him. "You're lying!" he snarled and lifted his wand once more.

Draco shrugged, feeling suddenly tired beyond his years. He wanted nothing more than to find Pansy, heal his aching wounds, and crawl into bed. "Whatever, Potter. You demanded the truth and I told you. Now you know why I hate you, so fuck off until tomorrow when I'll have another go at trying to tear out your spleen and force it down your throat."

Potter looked torn between fleeing and casting a Cruciatus Curse on Draco. At that moment, the door to the Slytherin common room opened and Pansy's face appeared. She took in the two combatants and her lips firmed into a thin line. She grabbed Draco's arm and tugged at him. "Leave him alone, Potter! Haven't you done enough damage?" she snapped. In her mind, all of Draco's recent injuries had been caused by Potter unjustly attacking him, a misconception Draco had not bothered to correct.

"This isn't over, Malfoy," Potter warned before he turned and made his way slowly down the corridor, hunched like an old man.

Draco glared at his retreating back and allowed Pansy to pull him into the comfort of the common room.

~x~

Harry made his way to the hospital wing. Normally he did not bother to stop in, preferring to have Hermione heal him even though she harangued him mercilessly during the process. Broken ribs, however, were a bit beyond her ability. He ignored Madam Pomfrey's exclamations of horror and demands to know how he had arrived at his condition. She ignored his mumbled excuses.

"The Headmaster will hear about this," she decided.

"Good. I have some questions for him, as well."

Harry dozed in the bed while he waited for Dumbledore to arrive. Despite the potions Pomfrey had dosed him with, his mind refused to shut down and rest. Surely Malfoy was mad? _Brothers_. They could not possibly be brothers.

But Malfoy had sounded so certain and his voice had been so full of hate. _Our father was dear old James Potter. Our father._

It would explain the increased venom and frequency of Malfoy's attacks, at any rate. Could it be true?

Dumbledore's face hovered above him, startling him for a moment. He had been lost in his thoughts. "Can I help you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

Harry nearly spilled his questions, but realized at the last moment that the Headmaster likely would have no idea whether or not James Potter had sired Draco Malfoy. In fact, it was possible that no one but James Potter and Narcissa Black Malfoy knew the answer to that question. And both of them were dead. Harry frowned. "No, Professor. I don't think you can help me this time."

Dumbledore reached down and took Harry's hand in order to give his knuckles a grandfatherly pat. "As you wish, Harry. It seems that you and Mr Malfoy are having troubles. I'm sure these things will work themselves out, in time."

Harry nearly snorted. _Having troubles?_ Yes, Harry's troubles at the moment consisted of several broken ribs and a fractured cheekbone. And the fact that his nemesis had revealed himself to be his long lost _brother_. He said nothing and Dumbledore dropped his hand and straightened.

"Very well, then, Harry. Sleep well."

The Headmaster was very nearly to the door when Harry called out to him and winced in pain when his tender ribs twinged. They were healed now, but the surrounding tissues had yet to realize it. "Professor, maybe you can help me!"

Dumbledore returned. "Yes, my boy?"

"I need to talk to Sirius. I have a very important question for him."

Dumbledore frowned. "I can arrange a Floo-call—"

"No! I need to see him in person." It was far too easy to lie through the flickering distortion of the Floo. Harry wanted to look into his godfather's eyes and demand the truth. He expected Dumbledore to protest, but the old wizard searched Harry's face for long moments and then nodded.

"Very well. I shall arrange it. Get some rest."

Harry climbed the stairs to the Headmaster's office, feeling slightly nauseous. Sirius slouched in a window seat, looking only slightly less like a fugitive than the last time Harry had seen him. He levered himself up and padded to Harry to wrap him in a warm embrace. Harry allowed himself to cling to his godfather for a moment and bask in a pseudo-paternal net of emotion. That thought only made him remember his father and he pushed Sirius away purposefully.

"Tell me about my father and Narcissa Malfoy," Harry said flatly, half-hoping that Sirius would look at him blankly and make some snide joke. Instead, shutters seemed to drop over his godfather's dark eyes and Harry felt a sinking sensation. Fuck, it was true.

Harry stumbled to the nearest chair and sat down.

"James was… Well, he was a bit of a prat in school," Sirius said lamely. "What is it you want to know?"

Harry heard the trepidation in his voice and raised his head to fix Sirius with a cold glare. "Is Draco Malfoy my brother?"

Sirius flushed and looked away. "It hardly matters, does it, Harry? Your parents loved you and—"

"IS DRACO MALFOY MY BROTHER?" Harry shouted.

Sirius winced and moved away. "I don't know! It's possible, I suppose. Your father and Narcissa were together for a short time. A very short time."

"Long enough, apparently," Harry said bitterly.

"James was an arse, all right?" Sirius snapped. "We both were. He was the bloody god of Gryffindor and Remus and I—and yeah, bloody Peter—were forever in his shadow. James did whatever the hell he wanted."

Harry cringed, remembering his short-lived Occlumency sessions with Snape and the memory thus revealed.

"Regardless of who got hurt," Harry said tonelessly.

"Yeah, regardless," Sirius muttered. "Narcissa meant nothing to James. It was a lark. Fuck, Harry, it was a bloody game."

"A game," Harry repeated, disgusted by Sirius' placating tone.

Sirius glared at him. "Look, I'm not proud of what we did, all right? We were selfish prats and we never thought about the consequences! And Narcissa was Slytherin. She should have seen James for what he was."

"She was your _cousin_!"

"She was a bloody pureblood snob!"

Harry shook his head, sickened. "You should have warned her."

Sirius barked a laugh. "Surely you're joking? She was the crown jewel in James' collection. I bet him fifty Galleons he would never get between her… ahem…" His words trailed off and Harry got to his feet.

"A bet? You made a _bet_?"

Sirius frowned. "We were young—"

"I'm young, Sirius. I'm young and I would never do anything like that!"

His godfather's features softened. "That's because you're good, Harry."

Harry ignored that. "My father pretended to like her, got her pregnant, and then dumped her? Is that it? What happened then?"

Sirius shrugged, but he looked more tired that Harry had seen in a long while. He refused to give in to sympathy. "Narcissa should have gotten rid of it. James advised her to, after all. He admitted that he never loved her and it was all a silly prank. She nearly killed him that day, as I recall. It took everything Remus and I had to keep her off of him. She never spoke to him again and shortly thereafter she married Malfoy. I was never quite sure why Malfoy took her in, actually."

"You never cared to find out, you mean," Harry said bitterly.

Sirius smiled sadly. "They were different times, Harry."

"My father abandoned his own child," Harry snapped. "Apparently they were very different times." He stalked toward the stairs and then paused before turning back to his godfather grudgingly. "Thank you for telling me the truth."

"Harry! He regretted the situation with Narcissa. He admitted it to me before you were born, and he was glad that Malfoy had married her and given the lad a home. If it's any consolation, your father wanted only Lily. There was no one else in the world for him. And he adored you."

"Yeah? I'm sure that will make Malfoy feel much better. I'll be sure to mention it next time he's pounding my face in."

He descended the stairs and went out.

~x~

Draco was not certain what the effect of his revelation would be on Potter, but as usual the Gryffindor did the exact opposite of anything Draco would have guessed. The prat cornered him in the hallway on his way to Potions.

"Draco," Potter said, shocking him with the use of his first name. Instead of hexing the Gryffindor, Draco paused with his wand half out of his robes. "Draco, we need to talk."

The word _talk_ gave Draco the push he needed to draw his wand. "We certainly do not need to talk, Potter. I need to hex you and you need to fall down."

He cast a Stunner, but Potter countered it with barely a whisper and a twitch of his wand. "Stop it. This is serious. I know what you told me is true. Do you know what this means?" Potter's voice was low, but it thrummed with emotion. Draco stared at him with growing horror. Potter stepped closer.

"Draco, you're my _brother_," he said breathily.

Draco looked around quickly to ascertain no one had heard the imbecile. Thankfully, the students had already entered the classroom, fearful of Snape's wrath. Draco reached out and grabbed Potter by the throat to slam him backward against the wall. "No, Potter. I am not. We happen to share some unfortunate genetic material. _That is all_."

"How can you say that?" Potter went on. His earnest features made Draco want to hit him. So he did.

Potter shoved him away and dabbed at his bleeding lip with the back of his hand. "How can you hate me for something I had nothing to do with?" he demanded.

"James Potter is not here to feel my mother's revenge. Therefore I will settle for you."

"That's insane," Potter snapped.

Draco cast a hex and Potter deflected it, sending the bolt into the wall above Draco's head. Bits of gravel showered down on his head. Draco snarled and cast another, also deflected.

"Damn it, Malfoy, listen to me!" Potter snapped. "_Immobilus_!" He cast the spell just as Snape exited the door of the Potions classroom in time to watch Draco deflect it.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor," Snape growled. "And detention for the both of you for being _tardy_. I will see you both this evening at seven o'clock. Be late at your peril, Potter. Mr Malfoy, I trust you plan to join the rest of us?"

Draco nodded and walked by Professor Snape without acknowledging Potter again.

Draco planned to ignore Potter completely during detention. He thought about having Pansy cast a temporary Deafness Charm on him, but decided at the last moment that he would rather not risk being permanently unable to hear. Her Charms work was not the greatest. Instead he took a couple of pieces of soft cotton and wadded them up to use as earplugs. Hopefully they would drown the sound of the Gryffindor's mewling voice and keep Draco from killing him while in Snape's domain. The Potion Master would be annoyed if he were forced to contact Lucius regarding any altercation with Potter.

Draco decided to be on his best behaviour and just get through the damned detention. He paid no attention to the Gryffindor whatsoever, shunning him while Snape explained their duties. Draco was assigned to counting and cataloguing wings—from miniscule aphid wings to those of the gigantic Atlas Moth. A boring task, certainly, but not disgusting or painful.

Draco smiled to himself as he listened to Snape detailing Potter's chore for the evening. He was to clean the desk last used by Neville Longbottom. Four days ago, Longbottom's attempt at a Haste Potion had resulted in a spectacular explosion that sent six students to the hospital wing. The bubbling mess had been quite toxic and therefore left to stew in a protective bubble until the fumes dissipated. The desk was covered in an angry-looking red-orange glop that still produced puffs of smoke now and again.

"Are you sure it's not still poisonous?" Potter asked dubiously and added, "Sir?"

"Are you questioning my knowledge of potions, Mr Potter?" Snape asked in a tone that made Draco turn away to hide his grin. "Perhaps you should be teaching my class instead of me. I shall summon Professor Dumbledore immediately and resign my position."

"Never mind," Potter muttered.

"I want this desk gleaming by the time I return," Snape said in a voice that brooked no argument. "And it would be best if you _children_ occupied yourselves with your separate tasks and did not acknowledge the other's presence. Untoward behaviour in my classroom will not be tolerated. Is that understood?"

"Absolutely, Professor," Draco said brightly. Potter muttered something that earned him a glare from Snape, but the black-clad professor said nothing more as he swept out, leaving them alone.

Draco began to count grasshopper wings, plucking them from a neat pile one at a time and depositing them into a vial. He felt Potter's eyes boring into him, but after long moments of Draco counting loudly, the Gryffindor sighed and began to scrape at the desk with a metal implement. Draco watched covertly as Potter glopped the ooze into an empty cauldron and continued on. It was going to be a long, messy process. Draco refrained from humming… barely. It would throw off his count, after all. _Seventy two, seventy three, seventy four…_

"This is ridiculous," Potter said and tossed his utensil into the cauldron with a clang. "Are you going to sit over there all night and not say a single word to me?"

"Five hundred and ninety two," Draco said loudly, "Five hundred and ninety three." He made a show of lifting each flitterpat wing with his tiny tongs and dropping it into the box, hoping the Gryffindor would take the hint and shut the fuck up.

"Five hundred and ninety seven," Potter said loudly. "Five hundred and _two_. Six hundred and thirty nine. Seventy five. Four hundred and twenty. Eleventy billion and six."

Draco managed three more wings before losing count completely and launching himself at Potter with a cry of rage.

Twenty minutes later, Professor Snape entered the room with Albus Dumbledore in tow to witness the carnage. Draco sat atop Potter and methodically banged his head against the edge of a cauldron with one hand—the other dangled uselessly from his side, covered in purple boils.

Potter's robes were torn and had burn marks in several places. Greenish welts stood out all over Potter's formerly handsome face and it was quite possible his ribs were broken again, judging by the shriek he had made when Draco sat on them. Draco's hair was badly singed on one side and his right eye was swollen so badly he could not quite see out of it.

The room was chaos. They had knocked over four desks, broken a chair, destroyed countless vials, and knocked over a flagon of Minotaur Oil, which gleamed slickly from several surfaces. Draco thought he might never get the revolting smell out of his skin and he banged Potter's head once more for good measure before Dumbledore's spell froze him in place.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape bellowed and Draco would have winced if he could have moved. He glared down into Potter's hated face. A call to Lucius was the least of Draco's problems now.

~x~

Harry arrived first and gloomily surveyed the place where he would spend the next four weeks, or at least every spare moment of his formerly free time for the next four weeks. It was a mess. Broken furniture was strewn everywhere. Stacks of crates and boxes were piled in corners and against walls. Shredded curtains dangled from windows and dust coated every available surface in a thick layer.

A noise behind him made Harry turn and he saw Draco Malfoy in the doorway, eyeing the place with disgust. His face had been healed, like Harry's, and even his hair had been fixed, somehow. He looked as handsome as he ever had, damn it all.

"This used to be Ravenclaw Tower," Harry said in an attempt to begin yet another fruitless conversation with the blond.

"Shut up, Potter. Your inability to remain silent is what got us here in the first place."

"Your inability to refrain from trying to murder me is what got us here," Harry muttered and shifted his eyes away from the Slytherin. He fixed his gaze on a broken chair. Stuffing spilled from a torn seam in the blue fabric. Harry tried not to look at Malfoy. He was confused at how his feelings had changed so quickly from puzzled anger to something resembling… what? Not affection, surely, but kinship? He only wished he could make Malfoy feel the same, but the blond seemed determined to feel nothing for Harry but hatred.

Malfoy marched into a far corner of the room and began to shift boxes, cursing the while. Harry was not sure where to begin. It was their task to clean the entire room. Without benefit of magic. Their wands had been confiscated by Dumbledore, who had barely managed to pacify Snape after the destruction of his classroom.

Harry walked over and righted the chair before coughing at the resulting cloud of dust. It was going to be a very long Sunday.

At noon, Harry went looking for Malfoy. The blond had confined himself to one small portion of the room and ignored Harry's every attempt at conversation. He hoped to at least get the prat to talk to him over lunch, which would be delivered by house-elf soon, according to Dumbledore's pre-detention briefing.

"Malfoy?" he called, walking carefully around a large stack of rickety-looking crates. Something snagged on his ankle and he looked down in surprise just as the precariously balanced mass began to fall. Harry shouted and threw himself forward, yelping in pain when the tumbled stack landed on his legs, trapping him.

"Fuck!" he yelled when he heard Malfoy's delighted laugh.

"Damn, I was hoping it would land on your head."

Harry struggled to remove himself from the heavy crates as Malfoy's black-booted footsteps approached. He instinctively shielded his ribs, the memory of those same boots slamming into them fresh in his mind.

"You set that up?" Harry snarled incredulously. He dragged one of his legs free, suppressing a cry of pain as a sharp edge tore through the material of his trousers and scratched along the side of his calf.

"Of course. I knew you would be stupid enough to come looking for me eventually," Malfoy said smugly. The blond knelt and grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair in order to tip his head back and glare into his eyes. "You just can't leave me alone, can you, Potter? I'd be a bit worried about that obsession, were I you."

"I just want to talk to you," Harry said through clenched teeth. He yanked his leg free, but the other was still tightly held by a heavy weight. He groped blindly behind him, seeking a weapon of some sort.

"No talking, Potter," Malfoy said and drew back his fist in preparation to hit him. Harry's fingers closed around a scrap of material and he latched onto it. Their fists met in midair and Malfoy's arm tangled in the shredded bit of blue curtain. Dust billowed around them and wafted into Harry's nostrils. He coughed and heard answering coughs from Malfoy. Harry pushed at the debris holding him with his freed leg and felt immense relief when it shifted aside.

Malfoy's hand was still tangled in his hair, however, and he nearly cried out when the blond twisted sharply while trying to free himself from the dirty fabric. Harry kicked again and his other leg was suddenly free. He launched himself at the blond and knocked him to the floor. Malfoy's hand released his hair and he stared at Harry in surprise. Harry lay atop him for a frozen moment and debated hitting the blond, but he was sick to death of the constant fighting and just wanted it to end.

He pushed away from Malfoy and climbed to his feet, frowning at the blood that trickled down his calf, soaking into his sock. Yet another damned Malfoy-inflicted wound to deal with. "Can't you just quit?" he asked tiredly.

Malfoy rose, watching him warily. "No. No, I don't think I can," he replied and leaped for Harry, who jumped away. Malfoy's fist narrowly missed his nose and Harry almost fell on his arse as he stumbled over the debris that had recently trapped him.

"For Merlin's sake!" Harry snapped. "This has to fucking stop!"

"I'll stop when you're dead, Potter. Or you could leave. Perhaps you should transfer to another school. I hear they have an excellent wizarding school in Malaysia."

"You're completely mental!" Harry shouted as he avoided a length of broken wood tossed by the blond. He backed away and ducked behind a broken wardrobe cabinet. Malfoy pushed it and Harry had to jump aside to avoid being crushed when it fell.

There followed a game of cat and mouse. Malfoy pursued Harry, throwing every object he could get his hands on. Harry knocked him down once and hid behind a twisted suit of armour in order to catch his breath.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are, _brother_," Malfoy called in a vicious singsong voice. Harry was thankful the Slytherin had no wand. He seemed utterly intent on killing him, or at least hurting him quite badly. Again.

"There you are, _Harry_," Malfoy snarled and threw something large and metallic that clanged from the armour and sent the helmet tumbling down to bounce off Harry's shoulder as he fled. Harry raced for the stairs and fled to the former dormitory—whether girls' or boys' he couldn't tell.

_Oh fuck_. The beds had been removed. The room was barren of furnishings—there was nowhere to hide. Only a tattered blue and black rug covered the floor. He turned, wildly seeking escape, but Malfoy was on him, wrapping both fists in Harry's dirty robes as he backed him across the room and into the nearest window.

"Potter, Potter, Potter," he said as he rammed Harry's back into the glass hard enough to rattle the panes. A sharp crack rent the air and they stared at each other in shock for a moment, and then an evil smile twisted Malfoy's lips. He pushed harder and the glass behind Harry's left shoulder splintered again. He turned his head and saw a jagged line race across the pane.

"Malfoy, stop!"

"Oh, now it's _Malfoy_ again, is it, _Harry_? What happened to Draco? What happened to your pathetic need for brotherly love?"

Harry struggled for leverage, but Malfoy shoved him again, harder. With a sickening sensation, Harry felt the glass shatter and fall away, raining down on them in glittering shards as Harry fell backward. He hung in space, caught on the ledge by his legs on the stone bench—his buttocks lay across the sill, but he felt himself sliding out onto the tiny apron of stone. He clutched at Malfoy's shoulders frantically. The Slytherin hovered over him, eyes wide but still determined.

"We're both going to fall!" Harry yelled.

"Good," Malfoy said flatly.

"You can't mean that," Harry whispered. Something flickered in the depths of Malfoy's grey eyes and Harry thought that despite all the times he had looked at the blond, he had never really seen him before. Malfoy's features were fine-boned and delicate, with an almost ethereal beauty that Harry's plain face could never hope to match. If they were related, there was no evidence of it that Harry could see. Malfoy's eyes were huge and silver, gleaming with intensity and something that Harry recognized as despair.

Malfoy pushed again, but Harry's right leg found rough purchase on the stone bench—he held tightly and felt his muscles shake with the effort of holding himself in place.

"Draco, please," he said desperately, feeling the wind catch at his hair. It blew Malfoy's over his forehead in a pale plume. Harry wanted to look down, but he had seen the view from Gryffindor Tower a thousand times; this would be no different. The height was dizzying, with nothing to break his fall but an ancient stone courtyard far below.

Harry felt a moment of regret that he was about to die in such a senseless fashion. Maybe it was fitting that he should pay for his father's mistakes. Malfoy leaned over him and Harry slipped minutely. His hands tightened on Malfoy's shoulders and curled desperately in the fabric of his robes. His eyes were drawn to Malfoy's lips, half-parted and wet. His tongue was just barely visible between his perfect teeth. Without thinking, Harry leaned up and kissed him.

~x~

Draco knew what he was doing was insane, but he could not seem to stop himself. What was it about Harry Potter that always drove him over the edge? Even now, hanging on the brink of death, the prat was not afraid. The green eyes were wide and pleading, but where Draco expected to find terror there was nothing but a strange sort of resignation.

"Draco, please," he said and Draco wished to hell the words did not wrench at him. How long had he waited for Harry Potter to beg? And why did it feel so completely wrong?

Despair ate at him and he suddenly thought it would be fine to just let go; to fall with Potter and let the ground take him away. Would Potter try to save himself? Probably. Knowing him, the bloody hero would try to save Draco, as well.

Potter's hands were clenched tightly in Draco's robes, pulling the fabric tight across his shoulders. Potter's face was taut with intensity, brow furrowed slightly. The famous scar was barely visible, covered by a curtain of thick black hair that brushed the frames of his stupid glasses.

It occurred to him suddenly that Harry Potter's face was really quite handsome, a bizarre revelation considering they were both about to plunge to their deaths. Draco wished for a moment that he could see Potter, just once, without his glasses.

As if prompted by the oddity of Draco's thoughts, Potter heaved himself upward and pressed their lips together.

The shock made Draco unlock his knees from where he had braced them against the stone bench. Potter dipped dangerously and his arms let go of Draco's shoulders to wrap around his neck. Incredibly, he managed not to break the kiss during the manoeuvre and Draco suddenly had no intention of dying until he determined what the hell Potter was doing.

He hoisted backward and felt his knees protest as they dug into the stone, but Potter helped. By slow degrees, they edged through the broken glass and back onto the stone bench. Once they were safe from the possibility of plummeting to the ground, Draco pulled harder to escape the window entirely and they both fell into the room. Draco would have cracked his head on the stone but for Potter's arms shielding him. The Gryffindor landed atop him and the insane kiss was broken when the breath huffed out of them both.

They stared wordlessly at each other for long moments while hot panted breaths mingled. Draco wanted to ask _why_, but he did not get the chance. Instead of shoving to his feet and escaping, Potter closed his eyes and pressed his lips back to Draco's.

Draco wanted to fight. He wanted to convince himself that Potter was simply being another sort of fucking prat, that he had simply changed the venue in his attempt to best Draco yet again, that it was the same war with merely a different battlefield.

But, as usual, Potter defied rationality. Instead of seeking dominance, his kisses were gentle, questing touches, asking for a response rather than demanding one. His tongue explored Draco's lips in between each soft, pressing suction. To Draco's chagrin, and despite the hysteria beating at the synapses of his mind, he lay limp as seaweed beneath Potter and wondered at his inability to fight back.

After long moments, his lips parted. _Curiosity_, he told himself. _Nothing more_. Potter's wet tongue eagerly delved into the newly opened territory and began to stake a claim. To make matters worse, Potter could kiss as well as he did everything else. If Draco had hoped for sloppy wet kisses to ridicule, he was out of luck. Potter's tongue was like liquid fire, stroking over his erogenous zones—the edges of his tongue, the roof of his mouth, and the ridges of his gums. It was brilliant. Far better than the timid kisses of Pansy Parkinson and the assortment of pureblood girls Draco had tasted.

To Draco's horror, he felt molten heat slide through his veins and pool in his groin. Before he could panic and shove Potter away, an answering hardness pressed against his growing erection and the Gryffindor moaned into Draco's mouth, prompting Draco's cock to swell even more.

Hysteria finally won and Draco wrenched his lips away to pull much-needed breath into his air-starved lungs. Apparently Perfect Potter could do without pesky necessities such as oxygen.

"Draco," the prat said as he pressed wet kisses into Draco's face in a random pattern. "Draco, fuck, I've wanted you for so long."

Unable to formulate words, Draco made a sound of confusion. While normally pants at Legilimency, Potter seemed to instinctively pick up on the nuances of non-conversation in the heat of—whatever they were in the heat of.

"Years," Potter replied. "Fucking years."

The word seemed to echo in Draco's head. _Years?_ It was unthinkable. Potter dove back into kissing again and Draco lost track of his bewildered thoughts. It was impossible to concentrate with Potter rocking against him in a way that was exquisitely wrong, but oh so incredible. The friction was delicious, even though it seemed there were far too many constricting clothes in the way.

Potter seemed to feel the same, for he stopped kissing again and removed his cushioning arms from beneath Draco's head--gently enough that his head did not smack against the stone. Potter's hands moved over Draco's chest, ribs, and then lower, brushing the waistband of his trousers.

Without the kissing scrambling Draco's ability to think, he managed a coherent sound. "Potter..."

Green eyes went wide and locked with his. "I... Oh Godric, do you want me to stop?"

Draco's hands were still clenched in Potter's robes. He loosened them in surprise as Potter pulled back, taking his heat and his hardness with him.

"Shit. I'm sorry," Potter went on, looking suddenly miserable. "I'm so sorry. Fuck, now you'll hate me even more than before." He laughed without humour. "If that's even possible." He pulled back, lifting away from Draco's legs; he had not even noticed Potter crushing them.

Potter's hands slowly moved away and the loss of contact seemed to shake something loose in Draco's brain. He knew that he should smash the Gryffindor in the nose and flee; he should go straight to the Daily Prophet and announce the Chosen One's depravity with a sordid tale of Potter attacking him--practically raping him. By the way Potter flinched, Draco knew such a thing would come closer to destroying him than the Dark Lord had ever managed. And wouldn't such rejection be fitting vengeance for Potter refusing his hand when they were mere children? Draco had tried to hurt Potter for weeks, using hexes and fists and every method in his arsenal to little avail. The nadir of pain gleaming in Potter's green eyes told him the perfect weapon had just been handed to him on a silver platter. His Slytherin core howled with triumph.

And yet... _Years_, Potter had said. The taste of him lingered on Draco's lips and it was suddenly not enough. It might never be enough. He sat up and grabbed Potter's robes, catching them in the same place as before at the juncture of Potter's shoulders.

He reached out and dragged Potter back, ignoring the internal shriek of horror that bore his father's voice. The black-haired boy stared at him in resignation, likely expecting a blow. He definitely did not expect Draco to lean forward and kiss him.

Draco was not as tender and gentle as Potter had been. Frankly, he didn't know how to kiss like that. He only knew how to take. Luckily for him, Potter knew how to give. With a distinct lack of self-preservation instinct, Potter succumbed. The prat fairly _melted_ into Draco with an astonished mewl that sent Draco's pulse racing anew.

They snogged for what Draco later decided was an obscenely long time, battling with tongue and teeth and lips until Draco's mouth was red and raw, yet even then he wanted more. His hands raked over Potter's body, so familiar from traded blows, yet completely new when stroked instead of pummelled. Potter's skin was warm and soft beneath his clothing and Draco discovered that touching it felt strangely like a gift.

"We shouldn't," Potter gasped when Draco pressed him into the dusty carpet and rolled atop him. "Not here."

Draco was too far gone to stop. He rutted mindlessly against Potter's groin and fumbled with the fastenings of the Gryffindor's maddening Muggle trousers. Fucking metal bits! He paused and stared down at Potter, whose eyes seemed even more intensely green now that his glasses were lost somewhere beneath them. Draco smirked. "With our history? You think satin sheets and romantic lighting would be more suitable?"

Potter winced and Draco claimed victory by finally parting the stubborn material and freeing Potter's cock to his waiting hand. The setting was perfect, somehow, surrounded by dust and broken glass and debris, with Potter sprawled wantonly beneath him, panting and hard. This would be dirty and desperate, like everything between them had always been.

He squeezed Potter's cock and the Gryffindor arched beneath him. "I'm going to fuck you now, Potter," he said, trying to make it sound like a threat and grimacing when it came out like a request.

"Okay," Potter said breathlessly. Damn him. Draco groaned and bent his head to kiss Potter on the throat. _Not tenderly_, he admonished himself and bit down, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, bruising the soft flesh with his teeth. Potter's hand curled in his hair, touching gently, not retaliating. "Draco," he moaned.

Potter's submission nearly undid him. The Gryffindor had fought him at every turn; always, until now. Draco tore at Potter's clothing, wishing desperately for his wand, because the manual process of getting Potter naked was taking too long. Thankfully, Potter helped. His shoes were kicked aside and he shimmied out of his jeans. Draco could not stop himself from sitting back for a moment and just looking at Potter, burning the image into his brain. Potter blushed furiously, which only added to his appeal. Draco suppressed a smile with effort and managed it by convincing himself that Potter was, under no circumstances, attractive.

That resolve was shaken almost immediately when Potter reached out to touch the edge of Draco's jaw to pull him in for another kiss. Shortly thereafter, Potter's hands glided over Draco's bare skin. The novelty of sucking on Potter's tongue while coaxing whimpering sounds from him by pulling rhythmically on his cock had completely distracted him from Potter busily unbuttoning his shirt and—oh Salazar, yes—tucking his hot fingers into Draco's open trousers. The first touch of Potter's hand on his erection nearly made him forgive the Gryffindor for every evil thing he had ever done.

"Draco, now, please now," Potter begged.

He was not certain what was hotter, Harry Potter _begging_ or the thought of what he begged for. The dust and grime suddenly seemed detrimental. "No lubricant, Potter."

Potter swore. "No wands. Fuck. Here, let me." Potter shimmied downward until his face was positioned beneath Draco's hard erection. _Surely he didn't mean to—?_ Before Draco could complete the thought, Potter's mouth closed over Draco's cock. He let out an undignified squeak and closed his eyes tightly. Merlin, nothing had ever felt so wonderful. Draco thrust downward, unable to stop himself, choking the Gryffindor, whose hands curled into Draco's hips roughly, shoving him back. He did not remove his mouth, however, and laved Draco's cock with his tongue until he thought he would definitely come straight down Potter's throat. Just a bit more…

Potter released Draco's cock unexpectedly and Draco considered the benefits of hitting him again, until Potter asked, "Wet enough?"

Oh, yes. There was that. Draco nodded and Potter lay back on the faded rug once more. Truthfully, Draco wasn't sure it was wet enough, but Potter was ready and Draco could no more ignore that invitation than he could have stopped breathing. He positioned the head of his cock against Potter's hole and pushed. The quickly drying saliva was barely slick enough for the job, but Potter only bit his lower lip and shut his eyes as Draco inched forward.

Potter whimpered and Draco stopped—a colossal effort. Potter might be in pain, but Draco had never penetrated anything so incredibly, amazingly tight. He wanted to bury himself to the hilt.

"Just do it," Potter ordered as if reading his mind.

Draco obeyed. He rammed forward and then paused, shaking, as Potter's fingers gouged into the flesh around Draco's hipbones. The Gryffindor did not scream, but he arched his back, tense and shaking.

"Fuck, Potter, how many times have you done this?" Draco asked.

"What? Are you joking?" Potter's eyes flew open and he stared at Draco with a bewildered expression. "Never, obviously."

"Obviously," Draco repeated dumbly. Potter's willingness took on an entirely new dimension. _Never_ joined the word _years_ and they began to chase themselves around Draco's psyche. It seemed impossible that the Chosen One had been saving himself for Draco, but from Potter's shocked expression, it was apparently true.

Potter's green eyes closed again. "Just get it over with," he muttered.

Draco frowned at the realization that Potter was no longer having a good time. His formerly hard cock had deflated. He quite possibly regretted a great number of things that had occurred over the past few minutes. If Draco were a better person, or a Gryffindor, he might have pulled away and spared Potter from additional anguish, but he was neither, and the sight of Potter's torment only made him feel a rush of determination.

He reached down and took Potter's flaccid cock in hand, taking care not to move inside of him. He stroked experimentally and after quiet moments, Potter began to make soft noises of pleasure again and the length in Draco's hand grew firm.

"Better?" Draco asked.

"Mmmmm," Potter agreed, so Draco pulled out and then thrust sharply, feeling almost faint at the sensation. Potter made a choking sound, but Draco began to tug at his cock with each plunging stroke. The Gryffindor's punishing grip on Draco's hips relaxed slightly and Draco assumed the pain was ebbing. He let go for a moment to slide forward, lifting Potter's hips for a better angle. On his next thrust, Potter gasped. By the look on his face, Draco thought he might have done something right. He smiled grimly and repeated the motion.

Potter's renewed soft cries were enticing, but Draco could not last. The sensation was too much, too brilliant. He felt his orgasm build quickly and stroked faster, hoping to bring Potter to climax before he lost it—to no avail. He felt a tightening rush and nearly bit his lip in half from the force of it. His vision went white and when he opened his eyes it was to find Potter staring up at him with an enraptured expression.

"Draco," Potter said and shut his eyes as a shudder coursed through him. The pressure around Draco's cock tightened even more and he watched with fascination as white liquid pulsed from Potter's throbbing prick to decorate his abdomen in glistening beads. It was a captivating sight that Draco would never forget.

He pulled out immediately and sprawled on his back next to the Gryffindor. The backs of their hands were touching, but Draco did not pull away and neither did Potter.

"Wow," Potter said.

Draco rolled his eyes at the understatement. He waited for the uncomfortable silence to develop. The moments stretched out and their breathing quieted, but the awkwardness never came.

"We're completely fucked up, Potter."

"We've always been fucked up, Draco."

"Not like this."

He turned his head to look at the Gryffindor, who watched him wryly. Potter rolled over and pinned him to the ground, leaning half over his chest. He kissed Draco gently and his fingers brushed over his cheek in a caress that was almost tender.

"Are you saying it's wrong to prefer _this_ to having my face pounded or my ribs kicked in?"

"How would everyone we know answer that question?"

"Does it matter?" Potter asked and kissed him again.

Draco's hands reached up and crushed Potter's thick hair in his fists. He deepened the kiss, plundering Potter's mouth. The Gryffindor eagerly reciprocated, tasting Draco's bruised lips until the heat began to build once more.

"Potter, we have to stop," Draco said with a groan.

"All right," he said in a regretful tone. He levered himself up and got to his feet. Potter stared down at Draco, who should have felt ashamed at lying filthy and half-exposed, but the look on Potter's face negated that emotion. He reached out a hand and Draco debated for only a heartbeat or two before taking it. Potter dragged him to his feet.

They spent some time arranging their garments—Potter used the inside of his robe to wipe himself clean and Draco grimaced. He could hardly wait to take a steaming bath. Dried blood covered Potter's calf, a souvenir from Draco's earlier trap. Draco smirked, rather proud at having left yet another mark on the Gryffindor. His eyes went to the darkening bruise on Potter's throat.

Fully dressed once more, Potter looked at him after affixing his glasses. He cleared his throat. "So… Um. Is this a truce, then, or do you plan to try and destroy me once we leave this room?"

Draco frowned. His urge to kill Potter had completely dissipated, metamorphosed into something else entirely. "I still hate you, _brother_."

Potter nodded and looked more defeated than Draco had ever seen him. He walked to the door, obviously intending to depart. Draco took three quick steps and caught Potter's shoulder to spin him around. He slammed the Gryffindor into the doorframe, hard. Potter gasped as Draco kicked his legs open and pressed his half-hard erection into Potter's pelvis.

"I still plan to destroy you, Potter, but I think perhaps my methods have changed." He nibbled at the soft flesh beneath Potter's ear and then dragged his teeth over the area. Potter's breath hitched and his fingers curled in the fabric of Draco's shirt.

Potter tried to speak, failed, and tried again. "I'll… try to be ready for you, then."

Draco nearly moaned aloud at the thought. "See that you are," he warned. He released his stunned sibling, pushed away, and headed back toward the demolished room below. Having a brother might not be such a bad thing, after all.


End file.
